


When silence falls, Time and Logic collide

by thatchick61



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Crossover Pairings, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25724662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatchick61/pseuds/thatchick61
Summary: When the Doctor shows up at 221 Baker Street, Sherlock gets more than he ever bargains for, a case of a lifetime.With science, he has never seen before, adventures he only dreamt of and a kind of love that he never gave much thought too. The love would either be the thing that saves him or doom them when the Silence Fall.
Relationships: The Doctor (Doctor Who) & Sherlock Holmes
Kudos: 2





	When silence falls, Time and Logic collide

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in need of another beta if anyone is willing. Enjoy the story!

It was such a pleasant day, considering the dull weather, one that Holmes would normally spend reciting his pieces on the violin or playing mind games on Lestrade while Watson was on holiday with Mary. It was a pleasant day until the doorbell rang. Sherlock looks downstairs, spotting someone duck under the awning, but only suspected they were dodging the misty rain.

"Mrs Hudson, the door!" Sherlock yells from the top floor of his flat.

He can hear Mrs Hudson's voice echo up the stairwell, something about not being his maid as usual. In anticipation for the visitor, Sherlock sits in his sombre apartment, the place still a mess despite his landlady's constant cleaning, alone on his red chair, his fingers together gracing his chin as he contemplates the dead skull before him. He hears Mrs Hudson open the door, her loud chattering voice carrying up to his apartment. Sherlock tries to block them out to meditate, failing as their loud footsteps clamber up the staircase.

Mrs Hudson knocks on the door, "Sherlock, I have a visitor here for you."

Sherlock opens his eyes to see a jittery woman standing behind her; she waves at him. Sherlock takes another minute to deduce the woman's personality before saying a word. She had wavy teal hair that blows back as she approaches him, her brash actions amusing the host. She took John's chair, Mrs Hudson instantly opens her mouth to correct their guest, but Sherlock stops her with a simple wave of his hand.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson," she huffs at his tone and leaves Sherlock to his shenanigans.

Holmes peers at the woman, trying to figure her out but they're too many things out of place. So he goes with the process of elimination. No animal hair meant no pets. Her infectious smile shows that she may be naive, but the harsh glint in her eyes told a different story. It wasn't aggressive or predatory, but someone who has seen the face of evil. The meticulous three-piece plaid suit with a bow-tie, she notices Sherlock looking at her bow-tie a little too intently.

"Bow-ties," the woman smiles confidently as she fixes it. "Mr Holmes."

"Sherlock, please, you sound like my mother," he mindlessly corrects, as usual, earning a queer chuckle from his guest.

This woman isn't entirely there; she looks no older than thirty-two, possibly twenty-nine. Sherlock continues trying to demystify this woman. Her velvety, yet raspy voice is weirdly intriguing to him when she states, "I need your help."

"Yes, I didn't think you had stopped by for tea."

While most find the Holmes brothers rude and unorthodox, the woman finds him funny and the epitome of honesty, a refreshing personality to add to her history of interactions.

Sherlock continues, "How can I be of assistance?"

His guest seems to relax and smiles a little brighter. "Britain is under attack by a secret society," Sherlock appears unbothered by this information. What a brilliant poker face the woman thinks to herself, but she can sense his hidden intrigue.

"How do you know this?"

The woman seems confused by his query, "Because, I'm the Doctor!"

"Of what?"

The woman, still clearly confused, ponders her life and suggests, "Of time?"

"You seem unsure of that," Sherlock shoots back at her, now quite disturbed about her.

"You have quite the collection here, may I?" The woman springs to her feet and walks around the room, touching everything in reach, which only adds to Sherlock's ire.

He hides his fury, but internally seethes, 'Who was this woman to think she could walk in here and pick up whatever she wanted?' The Doctor picks up the skull that was sitting before Sherlock. He reacts quickly by swiping the head from her hands. "Stop touching everything."

The Doctor composes herself and nods, "Right, sorry."

"Are you daft?"

"No," she confirms, "I like your style, very sure of yourself. Great, you're hired!"

This woman is perplexing Sherlock, "I never said I would take the job."

The Doctor cocks her head to the side, "But you're intrigued."

Sherlock despises being deduced like some typical lackey, but he can't lie about her statement. "Do you have evidence of this farcical hypothesis?"

"Yes," the woman confirms, "but I didn't bring it." The Doctor seems to be hiding something, but Sherlock is far too curious to let this case go. "It's in my vum," the woman makes a little noise to herself, "Car! That thing!" the woman looks around the room, still piecing together her thoughts. "Yeah, that's where it is. You should come with me…. to get it."

The Doctor seems content with herself for constructing a full sentence. To Sherlock that was single-handedly, the worst lying he has ever been witness to. His non-existent cat can lie better.

"Lead the way."

The woman smiles and hops off the chair, her childlike excitement making Sherlock want to chuckle, but he holds his stale disposition at the underlying danger he senses about her. She reminds him of one Irene Adler, but less of a honey pot and more of a dork. The Doctor leads Sherlock down an alleyway not too far from 221 Baker Street. Sherlock looks around suspiciously, even as she keeps glancing back at him.

Sherlock can't take much more of this, "Where are we going?"

"To the Tar-car! It's right around here."

Sherlock can see a tarp lazily draped over what looks to be an old Police Box from the blue panelling that hasn't been covered.

The Doctor pulls off the tarp with enthusiasm, "Ta-da!" She pulls a key from her vest and opens the door.

Sherlock is now confident that she has lost her mind; he looks at his watch, Fifteen minutes that could've been used more productively.

"While this has been fun, I will be leaving now."

Sherlock turns to leave, but the Doctor impedes his path, "Wait, just look inside. It will all make sense."

Holmes rolls his eyes and peers into the cramped box, then back at the Doctor, "Fine, after you."

He isn't about to be drugged and kidnapped by this petite woman dressed like a toff on their first birthday. His thoughts then linger to blame John for leaving him for Mary. Preparing for the worst, Holmes stays on guard as he steps into the surprisingly large Police Box. Sherlock instantly steps back out, then looks around the Tardis. The Doctor pops her head out.

"I know, right?" she smugly adds.

The Doctor stands in the Tardis' doorway, while Sherlock tries to wrap his head around what he sees. This thing is against physics; everything he knew about the world, something he fancies himself as an expert in "Did you drug me?"

The Doctor steps out of the ship, "Offended! I didn't drug you. This is the Tardis and can we go, please."

Sherlock doesn't hesitate; he steps into the Tardis. Most people would think he was crazy, but Sherlock was beyond fascinated. Something finally clicks in his mind; he twirls around abruptly to be face to face with his possible abductor. The Doctor doesn't even flinch when they battle over will, eyes locked until one falters. His eyes look like the Fraxis galaxy, a pure blue sky with grey flecks and streaks.

Sherlock clears his throat. "You're an alien," he said matter of factly.

"Yes, a Timelord to be precise." Once again, she smiles and in a disarming manner to Sherlock.

"A Timelord?" he tries out the words, carefully pronouncing every syllable. "And your name,"

"My name isn't important, but everyone calls me The Doctor," she moves over to the control plane and begins pressing buttons. "Ready now?"

Sherlock meanders around, taking in his new surroundings. He walks over to the control panel to examine it, "You're a Doctor of Time?"

The Doctor smiles, "Spot on."

"Where are we going?"

She flips a switch, and the vessel roars to life, making a whirring noise that irks her partner. "The United States!"

The sound grinds on Sherlock's eardrums, "Does it makes this sound the entire time?"

The Doctor nods, "It's great, right!"

No Sherlock most certainly does not think it is great.

The machine's whirring slows, the sound of screams filter into the Tardis. Chaotic chanting echo around them as if they were in the midst of the French Revolution. Gunshots and blasts momentarily silence the people before it began again. Holmes opens the door to a harsh smoke.

"It's tear gas," he coughs through his scarf.

The Doctor hands him a gas mask as she departs to see the line of police officers in riot gear approach them without hesitation. They watch teens sprint to safety, covering their friends as more gunshots ring through the busy city. The onslaught continues with collapsing bodies and limping civilians as they get bombarded by those meant to serve and protect. A rubber bullet falls from the Doctor's midsection, Sherlock runs and grabs her to seek shelter in the crook of a building. Sherlock's arm is throbbing; he looks down, moving his coat to reveal a red mark on his forearm.

"Did you not feel it?"

"I feel things! Oh, you meant physically," the Doctor walks off with her eyes focused on something else.

Sherlock follows behind her, "Are you sure we're in the right place." They pass a burning car; the street is mostly empty except for a few protesters trying to flee the scene.

"This is America."

They turn the corner and Sherlock sees the White House; a loud bang can be heard from the street they came from.

Sherlock instinctually ducks, "What era?"

They continue to the gates of the capital, "It's still 2020."

The Doctor is doing surveillance on where the secret service is located on the lawn.

"I thought you said you were a Time Lord," Sherlock peers to his side but the Doctor is gone.

From the other side of the fence, the Doctor notes, "So you're disappointed we didn't get to time travel. I understand that it's one of my favourite parts."

"Hey, you stop!" an agent yells at her.

She runs off, long coat billowing in the wind, leaving Sherlock shocked at her audacity to run from the murder happy yanks. Having time to reflect on the situation he was in, Holmes thought about the mistakes he has made in his life. All of his years of investigating dangerous crimes, he had the displeasure of meeting a myriad of people he has now erased from his thoughts. The Doctor, despite her queer tendencies, was not only an alien but an exciting one.

He watches the Doctor run from five burly American agents as if they were playing tiggy. If these were the brilliant ideas of the Doctor Sherlock was going to have agreed-upon strategies for the remainder of the case. He scans the lawn, noticing that all of the agents on the ground were solely focused on the intruder. It was his chance to get inside; maybe she wasn't all that daft.

Skillfully and swiftly, Sherlock scales the fence and sneaks over the White House lawn. Cautiously Sherlock climbs through a window then walks the carpeted hallways, dodging a few passersby, hiding in dark corners and empty rooms. Sherlock creeps down an empty hall, stopping when he hears two people approaching. The hallway is too brightly lit for him to hide, so Sherlock rushes to the random door along the corridor. He tries any doorknob he can get to before he is spotted. Finally, with a successful twist, Sherlock slips into the room, peaking his eye through a centimetre crack.

"Interesting," a mischievous voice notes. Sherlock whips around to the unfriendly grin of Mycroft in a meeting with a completely flabbergasted Meadows.

"Funny, finding you here."

"I could say the same to you," Mycroft retorts. "You wouldn't happen to be with the lunatic currently running across the lawn, would you?" "I am. Speaking of the devil."

"Unhand me you fiend," the secret service agent releases the wriggling Doctor when the Chief of Staff nods at him. "Sherlock! You got my message."

"What message? You climbed the White House fence and made the secret service chase you for," Sherlock checks his watch, "for twenty minutes."

The Doctor turns to Meadows, "Is that a new record? I read somewhere it was 8 minutes." She takes a seat and helps herself to some tea set specially for their guests, "I hope you don't mind. I'm quite parched."

Mycroft stands, "Spill Sherlock we gave you, your companion," he finishes the sentence with apparent disdain.

The Chief of Staff finally speaks up, "Do I need to be here for this?"

In unison, all three answer with a resounding, "No."

Once he leaves, the Doctor speaks first, "I thought they were going to shoot me."

"I wouldn't be surprised," is Sherlock's only reply. "I am here helping, Miss-"

"The Doctor," the Time Lord interjects, "Or just Doctor. Sometimes I show up as a guy, so no gender roles for me."

Without missing a beat, Sherlock corrects himself, "I am helping the Doctor solve a case."

"Why has the case come to US soil?"

"I don't know, yet," he concedes, earning a look of surprise from Mycroft. "Very unlike you, Sherlock. You don't take a case without knowing why."

"Yes, well, a lot has happened."

"The case is to find the killer of a General Hawkings," the Doctor interjects.

"General Hawkings committed suicide," Mycroft reminds her.

"You would think that."

"No, I know that."

"Well, I have more than 900 years on you, so I think I would know more."

"Hmm, you chose a complete nut this time."

"Time's wasting," she interjects.

"Why are you at the white house then," asks Mycroft.

"Because this is the last place he was before he died."

"And how do you expect to get around here?"

"You," the Doctor states confidently.

Sherlock studies her, again she surprises him, "You knew he was here," it wasn't a question.

Sherlock and the Doctor lock eyes, "Yes."

Mycroft breaks the tension "and why would I do that."

"Because why wouldn't you help your brother."

Sherlock turns to his brother, "Wouldn't you?"

The eldest Holmes huffs, "You owe me."

Sherlock pretends to think it over, "No."

They escape the room and prowl the corridors for Hawking's office, still marked by post-it notes and dying flowers. Mycroft stands in the doorway as his brother searches the tiny office for clues. The Doctor is by the bookshelf pulling out every bound novel and journal to just let them fall to the floor when they inevitably proved obsolete. Mycroft is sure his brother is using again, and this person must be his dealer, albeit a posh one at that.

"There is nothing out of the ordinary, typical books, nothing out of its place. Everything is too clean," Sherlock tells them.

Mycroft chimes in, "That's because they clean the offices every day. You won't find anything here."

The Doctor drops the last book on the shelf behind it is a little camera; she sticks it in her pocket without anyone noticing. "Okay"

The Doctor walks out of the room, leaving both Sherlock and Mycroft. There is a sticky note on the floor, from one of the books the Doctor dropped, the Roman numeral one written multiple times on it.

The Doctor's head pops back in, "Found something?"

She startles Sherlock and his brother. "She is surprisingly quiet,"

"She is surprisingly a lot of things," Sherlock adds as he walks past his brother to the awaiting Doctor. He hands the Doctor the post-it, she looks at it then back to Sherlock.

"Where's the body?"

Mycroft doesn't want to answer. He feels his favour will only be extended, "The morgue."

"Still? Interesting. To the mortuary." The Doctor's long coat billowing behind her.

Sherlock grabs her hand, and it's electric, he releases her as if he were burnt. Sherlock quickly masks his reaction, "the body won't show anything new. We're going to his home."

"Usually, I'm the one giving orders," The Doctor cheekily winks at Sherlock.

Puzzled, he wonders whether or not the woman was flirting with him. What worried Sherlock more is that part of him hoped she was.

Once at the Hawking's house, Sherlock busies himself with trying to deduce what had occurred by the remaining clues that the DCPD hadn't trampled. He inspects the doors, windows, the carpet, everything. Mycroft stands off in the back, ominously. The Doctor is preoccupied with her sonic screwdriver as it buzzes over one of the bookshelves. As Sherlock and the Doctor mill around, silence falls on Mycroft. He spots a lanky alien clad in a proper black suit and ties lurking in the apartment across the street. They seem to be pulling Mycroft in with every passing minute, yet he is frozen by the creature that seems to peer into his soul. He could hear it breathing as if the humanoid monster was beside him. Sherlock stands in front of his brother, obstructing his view of the extraterrestrial. When Mycroft and Sherlock's eyes meet, he seems lost. Sherlock's lips are moving, but Mycroft can't comprehend his words.

"What did you say?"

"I said, why are you still here?"

The Doctor stands off to the side, watching Mycroft suspiciously.

"I...I don't know."

Sherlock sees something pass by the door. When did they open that door, Sherlock distinguishably remembers closing it after he inspects it. The Silence steps into the little door path staring at Sherlock.

"Do you see that man?"

The Doctor turns to Sherlock following his eye line to the doorway, but it is empty. Her screwdriver goes off in her pocket. She claps her hands together "You know what, I'm hungry. Break time!" The Time Lord walks Sherlock and Mycroft out of the loft. She looks back staring at the apartment with a devious look on her face.

"Are you coming?" Sherlock barks from down the hallway.


End file.
